


Is It Love You Want? (Cause It's Love We've Made)

by Ode_to_ships



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Lydia and Stiles just trying to get it together, PWP, Smut, Stydia, Stydia Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:57:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9598703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ode_to_ships/pseuds/Ode_to_ships
Summary: "Stiles Stilinski has infiltrated Lydia's very existence. Emotional tether goes far beyond what science describes as being chemically in love with someone. His scent isn't in her sheets, and his galaxies aren't on her skin, but the shape of his lips is ingrained in her memory. She still has his flannel, his favorite from high school. She can still feel his hands around hers, on her waist, if she thinks hard enough. Tucked away in her drawer next to her bed is the picture of her tree he had framed. He was her north star, and he still is, and he always will be."Lydia promised him that after college they could be together. She had just wanted to try it on her own. To have something be hers. So after six years of shoddy communication and intense making up, Lydia is back to show Stiles she isn't going anywhere. And Stiles lets her, because she's Lydia and he's Stiles.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So this fic is part of the Stydia Big Bang, and I'm really excited about it. Thank you for reading, and I hope it's great for everyone. I'm excited to read all of the fics and see all the art done. Speaking of art, major shoutout to Jenn (stilinskikissme on Tumblr) for being my beta reader AND my artist. She did a fantastic job, and is all around phenomenal at gif sets. Please check her out!
> 
> Also, thank you to stilesprefers-screamers. Sydney, you're seriously an angel because I was having a moment, and you were so patient. You rock.
> 
> And thank you to rongasm, hollandroden, stydiaiscanonbitch, lumosed, fudgythewhale, and stilesbanshee for setting this up. It's superb and appreciated. 
> 
> Also, a thank you to songof-light for the title card I'm really hoping shows up haha.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

“I am learning peacefulness; lying by myself quietly.”

 

Lydia’s a little unsure about this idea. Granted, it wasn't her idea. It was Scott’s. Which makes Lydia really unsure about this idea. Not that Scott doesn’t have… Okay no, Scott’s idea’s are usually horrible when it comes to situations like these.

 

She’s standing outside the door of Apartment 36A, wondering if she should just turn around now. There’s no way she's going to be able to step foot into the apartment, even if the tenant opens the door, which he might not. She had promised Scott, and college was over. And she had promised _him_.

 

Truth be told Lydia had waited a whole two years after college to make this trip. She knew it was wrong, that she had specifically made him a promise that when they graduated- she would find him, and they would finally give it a shot. A proper chance.

 

She never came.

 

He always called.

 

She never answered.

 

He stopped calling about 6 months ago.  

 

It wasn't for lack of love. She had acknowledged her love for him when she was 16.

 

But come college graduation, she’s walking into her apartment feeling panicked. She then proceeds to remind herself that she doesn't have to go to him _right now_. But she should've, and she hadn't quite felt the weight of that until this moment right here, waiting outside his door, and she still hasn't knocked.

 

Stiles Stilinski was Lydia’s fixed point. Her north star that never rotated, and was always present. He led her home and gave her hope. And yeah, she dabbled with other boys; boys who left constellations on her skin, and their scent in her sheets. But they weren't her north star.

 

Stiles Stilinski had infiltrated Lydia’s very existence. Emotional tether goes far beyond what science describes as being chemically in love with someone. His scent isn't in her sheets, and his galaxies aren't on her skin, but the shape of his lips is ingrained in her memory. She still has his flannel, his favorite from high school. She can still feel his hands around hers, on her waist, if she thinks hard enough. Tucked away in her drawer next to her bed is the picture of her tree he had framed. He was her north star, and he still is, and he always will be.

 

Lydia’s pretty sure she’s going to throw up.

 

She knocks anyway.

 

“Who is it?” She hears him call, and she closes her eyes for a brief moment relishing in the sound of his voice, washing over her like waves.

 

“It’s uh…” her voice cracks so she clears it, and tries again. “It’s Lydia.”

 

A solid two minutes goes by and she thinks he's probably hoping she’ll just leave, but she doesn’t. She stays right where she is. She knows he’ll open the door, because she’s Lydia and he’s Stiles, and he’ll open the door. Plus she knows that he knows that she’s entirely too stubborn to back down once she’s committed to something.

 

Thirty more seconds go by and the door is swinging open.

 

And there he is, and she wants to cry. She feels it in her throat, the lump that’s restricting her airway. He’s so beautiful. His hair is mussed and long. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and sweatpants. He’s not built, but lean and slightly bigger than the last time she saw him all those years ago. His mouth is parted.

 

“Hi Stiles..” She says and it sounds breathy and far away.

 

“Lydia.. What are…Why are you here?” He hasn't moved aside to let her in yet.

 

“Uh Scott called me..” she trails off because he huffs and rolls his eyes.

 

“Dammit Scott. Lydia you didn't have to come…” his eyes are soft to match his voice.

 

“I did.” They stare at each other for a minute, and suddenly Lydia is back in high school watching him walk towards her down the hall with a smirk on his face.

 

“Uh do you want to come in?” he asks moving aside, like he suddenly remembered that it’s rude to leave someone outside in the hallway.

 

“Yes please.” She walks into his apartment and is immediately struck by how Stiles it is. Relatively devoid of decorations, but there's a flat screen, a couch, and a chair in the living room. His kitchen, which is just off the living room, is clean and tidy. He has a blender, a coffee machine which is brewing coffee, a toaster, and a microwave in various spots on the counters. She smiles to herself and can’t help thinking that if she lived here, there would be many more decorations and the kitchen would be a disaster. She dismisses it immediately.

 

“It’s been awhile. How are you? How’s life been?” She can tell he's trying. She knows he wants to ask, but he won’t because he’s never asked for more than she’s ready to give.

 

“I’ve been good. I got my own lab which is really fantastic. I love my research. It feels good to be doing something that I’ve always dreamed about.” She smiles slightly at him.

 

“That's really great, Lydia.” He’s staring at her and she can see it written all over his face. It’s the same adoration for her that he’s always worn, but his eyes are guarded and that breaks her heart. The Stiles she knew didn't have guarded eyes around her, and she’s built the walls she wants desperately to tear down.

 

“What about you Stiles? What have you been up to? Aside from severely neglecting your apartment.” She tries for a joke, but it falls flat because he doesn’t even smile. She knows why.

 

“I think you already know the answer to that. Especially if you’ve talked to Scott.” He’s still looking at her, but she has to look away.

 

“I don’t know what to say….” And it’s true. She doesn’t because she doesn’t know where to start. There's so much to say, because there's so much between them.

  


(Freshman Year of College)

 

“Dammit Lydia how are you beating me at chess when you aren’t even here?” Stiles is sitting on the couch in the apartment that he and Scott share with a chessboard on the table, the phone up to his ear.

 

“Stiles, you’re playing against yourself. Again.” He can hear the roll of her eyes, and he smiles.

 

“True. But it’s more fun to pretend that you’re playing against me because I have no one to play with.” He looks pointedly over at Scott who is doing his bio homework at their kitchen counter.

 

“Not gonna happen dude.” Scott doesn’t even look up.

 

“Well at least I’m winning, I suppose.” Lydia says.

 

Stiles laughs. “When are you going to get here?”

 

“When I get there.” It’s his turn to roll his eyes.

 

“Why can’t you just tell me?” He whines.

 

“Because that would be me doing what you’re asking, and when have I ever done that?”

 

“Fine. I’ll see you when you get here.”

 

“Bye Stiles.” He can hear the grin in her voice.

 

“Bye Lyds.” They hang up and Stiles sits there staring at the chess board for a minute. He’s excited to see Lydia. Excited to talk to her about where they are, and how they feel about each other. They had been planning this talk for awhile because the will we, won’t we dance was getting old to the both of them. A month had gone by since classes had started, and while he hadn't actually seen Lydia, they had talked every day on the phone. He knew she was busy, and so was he, and life just kind of got in the way as it always seemed to with them. But today. Today was a day of answers.  

 

Stiles was sure it was going to be we will.

 

Twenty minutes later there’s a knock on their door, and then he finds himself sitting with her on his bed. His heart is pumping hard because he’s so nervous. As sure as he was earlier, he isn’t so sure now. Mostly because Lydia hasn't been able to stop fidgeting with her hands, which is in stark contrast to how she sounded over the phone, and is a decidedly not Lydia thing to be doing.

 

“So Lyd.. We gonna talk about this?” straight to the point because he’s done skirting this. He can’t do it anymore.

 

“Yeah.. Just give me a minute.” It’s with that sentence that he knows but he waits for her to say it anyway. “So you know how I feel about you. You know that I love you, that you make me happy. Right? You know that don’t you?” She asks and she has this look in her eyes like she’s willing him to understand what’s about to happen. He isn't sure he can.

 

“Yeah I know that. But?” He hasn't moved. He’s barely breathing.

 

“But it’s freshman year of college, and I think we should wait.” He completely deflates, and now she won’t look at him. “We should focus on ourselves, and do college, and experience it without having to worry about the other.”

 

“I’ll never not worry about you, Lydia.” His voice is hard, which strikes him as odd because he’s absolutely crumbled inside.

 

“I know. But I just think that if we can have college, do our own thing, we’ll be better off. We’ll be ready after.”

 

“You want to wait until after college to be together.” He says flatly.

 

“Yes.”

 

He closes his eyes. He feels his bed shift and then her hands are on his face.

 

“Stiles look at me. C’mon, please?” she says softly. He opens his eyes and hers are there. She’s about an inch from his face staring at him with a look of something close to love. “Stiles you know how I feel. I just think that we should try college without feeling like we’re…” She’s struggling for words, so he provides one for her.

 

“Stuck. Without feeling like we’re stuck.”

 

“You know that isn’t what I mean… I just need to try college on my own. I need to try. Do you get that?” She’s moved into his lap. Her head is nuzzled into his neck, her arms draped over his shoulders, her legs around his waist.

 

He lifts his arms up and wraps them around her. “Yeah Lyd. I get it. We can do that. Whatever you want.” He says and he tries for a supportive sound, but it comes out flat.

 

“Thank you.” And whether she heard the distress, or ignored it, he was now, again, left without Lydia Martin.

  
  
  


(Present Day)

 

“You don’t really need to say anything Lydia.” It feels like a dismissal. Like he’s saying that she should just leave now. But she won’t.

 

“If you know why I’m back, then you know that I’m staying.” She whispers because she’s afraid that if she says it any louder, it’ll set him off.

 

He snorts instead. “Yeah okay.”

 

“I am.” She says resolutely.

 

“Lydia I really don’t want to do this with you right now.” His eyes are closed and he’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“Okay. Then I’ll come back.” She heads for his door, but he grabs her wrist.

 

“You really don’t have to. Seriously Lyd, it’s okay. I get it. Don’t come back okay?” He pleads. Her heart cracks again at the use of her old nickname, and then it cracks a little more because he’s basically begging her not to return because it hurts too much.

 

“I am. You’ll see me next Saturday. I’ll show up just like I did today, so be ready for that.” She turns, gently removes her wrist from his grip, and leaves.

 

She knows that now isn’t the time to confess anything because he won’t hear it. She knows that she has to prove she’s solid before he’s going to lean on her again. She’s walking out of the building holding back tears because she isn't sure if she just did more damage, or if it was the first step to patching things up between them. All she knows is that she’s missed him so much, and she wants to turn around and run back inside and never leave.

 

She can’t and she doesn’t. She gets in her car, and drives away, resolved in the decision to show up every Saturday until they are Stiles and Lydia again. She doesn’t care how long it takes. He gave so much for her, she can give for him.

  


XXXXX

 

“Scott what the fuck man?” Stiles is frantic. He’d called Scott immediately after Lydia had left.

 

“It needed to happen and you know it.” Scott says calmly.

 

“I don’t know that at all! She just showed up here! I’m in sweatpants for fucks sake, Scott. You could’ve warned me that she was coming.” He’s pacing in front of his couch.

 

“If I had you would've pretended to not be home, and then the plan wouldn’t have worked, and we wouldn’t be having this lovely conversation right now.” Still calm, damn him.

 

“You are the reason for your misery right now, Scott.” He flops on the couch, “I mean seriously dude. I’m standing in my kitchen making coffee, and there’s the knock followed by her voice. I almost had a heart attack, which you would have also been responsible for.”

 

“Stop being dramatic. There’s a part of you that was happy to see her. It was time, bro.” Scott’s voice has now taken on an edge of sympathy, and Stiles wants to punch him through the phone, even though he knows Scott is right. “You deserve either closure or happiness, and one way or another, now you’re going to get it.”

Stiles sighs. Scott was always looking out for him. “I get what you’re saying.” And he does. He wants closure. He wants to be able to close the Lydia door, and lock it. He hasn't been able to. Not since he’s known her. Maybe Scott’s right and this will finally end in him being able to let go of her. He isn't optimistic about it though.

 

“How’d she look?” Stiles wasn't the only one Lydia hadn't seen, though she at least still _talked_ to Scott.

 

“Fucking beautiful. How else?”

  


XXXXX

  


The week had been a long one. Lydia was a ball of nerves and anxiety waiting for the coming Saturday. What if he wasn't there when she showed up? What if he didn't let her in? What if he did and they just sat there staring at each other for however long?

 

She took a deep breath. Sitting in her car outside of his apartment building wasn’t going to eradicate the nerves, and she probably just looked odd to all those passing by. So she took another deep breath and got out of her car.

 

The walk to his door seemed to take hours even though it only took her 5 minutes. She can’t remember a time where she was this nervous. Not even when she’d told him she wanted to wait. She knew he would understand, but now she has no idea what to expect.

 

She knocks.

 

5 seconds later he opens the door, and she’s doused in feeling like she’s home.

 

“So you showed.” She winces internally because while maybe she deserved that, it still stung.

 

“I told you I would.” He nods once and moves aside to let her in. It smells like wood polish, and once again she finds herself smiling as she’s entering his apartment because he very obviously cleaned it for her. Some things never change.

 

“So what exactly are we doing? I mean I’m not opposed to sitting here looking at you for the next however long, but I don’t think that’s what you want to do.” He’s nervous, she can tell. She gives him a shy smile, which he hesitantly returns.

 

“What would you like to do, Stiles?” She asks because this isn't about her, it’s about him and fixing this in whatever way she can.

 

“Okay, no. Lydia you always have a plan, and I don’t need you coming over here and bending to my every whim just because you think you need to make up for something.” His voice is stern, and she can’t help but be relieved in a strange way. He’s calling her out like he always has when she’s veering. He knows how she is, and he’s right. She should give him the real Lydia.

 

She wants to explain herself. She wants to talk it out with him, which is something she would never have done 6 years ago. She’s different now, and she’s ready for him, and she’s tired of pretending that she wants to be anywhere else other than with Stiles Stilinski.

 

She knows though, that she shouldn’t say it, but it comes out anyway. “I want to explain myself.” She blurts in a very Stiles like fashion.

 

He deflates. “No.” he murmurs.

 

“Stiles please…”

 

"No. I don’t want to hear it. I got the speech. Then I got the follow up notice when you didn't show, and then proceeded to not answer my calls. I don’t want to hear it.” He grits out. She watches him sink down onto the couch. “You want to talk about our past? Remember the week you spent with me Sophomore year winter break?”

 

She nods.

  


(Sophomore year of college. Winter break)

 

“Stiles if you don’t unlock the door I am going to kill you.” They’re standing outside his apartment complex, and his fingers are so cold that he can barely get the key in the knob. He should really invest in gloves.

 

“Yes, I am aware. Thank you. I’m working on it.” Lydia had offered to try, but he had been insistent on doing it himself because she had made a side comment about how he didn't have gloves. He told her it was fine, and he could handle it. Now they're here, and he can’t let her win.

 

“You get one more try, and then I am going to….” He unlocks the door and they move inside the foyer. He gives her a smirk.

 

“You’re going to what? Reward me with a kiss? Because oh look! We’re inside.” He’s still smirking.

 

“Call me when your lips aren’t chapped.” She shoots back, and he laughs.

 

They head upstairs to his apartment. Stiles has it to himself because Scott is away visiting Kira. So for a week it’s all his, which is why he called Lydia. This was day 3 of her visit.

 

Despite their agreement to wait until after college, they still talked everyday, and she still visited him. And sometimes, she kissed him behind closed doors when the world was sleeping, and it seemed like reality was a little altered, and one kiss wouldn’t change everything in the morning. It always did. They didn’t stop.

 

So, they found themselves at 8:30pm on a cold Thursday in December in Stiles’ living room, with Mexican take out and soda. They had discovered that Stiles and Lydia mixed with alcohol ended with them in some very questionable positions in various states of undress, though they’ve never had sex.

 

Stiles is currently thinking about the time over the summer when she had invited him over. He still can’t figure out where his shirt went.

 

They sit and talk on his couch for a long time, something they always do when she visits. They catch up on each others lives, because you can’t possibly cover everything over the phone. It isn't the same. Lydia doesn’t mention the guys she takes home sometimes when she’s aching and lonely. Stiles pretends he doesn't know that she does that.

 

(She had answered the phone once when she had a guy over. He was leaving but Stiles still heard him.)

 

Midnight finds him laying down with her slotted between his legs, her head on his chest, his hands rubbing up and down her back. They fall asleep and the next day is the same routine. And it feels like a routine, and it feels right. And Stiles can’t help but notice how she fits effortlessly into his apartment, and into his life. He can’t help but wish Scott would never come back, and this week would never end. But it will and Scott will come back, and Lydia will leave.

 

He’s trying not to dwell on all this on her last night with him, but he is and she can sense it. God bless her she doesn’t ask him about it. She just lays down with him in his bed, and curls into his side. He keeps quiet about his feelings because she had asked for time, and he was willing to give it to her. Waiting for her was like breathing; involuntary. A reflex that his brain did automatically. He couldn’t stop if he tried because it was anatomically impossible for him to stop waiting for her.

 

So he’s laying in his bed with her trying to quell the anxiety in his stomach, when she moves. Suddenly she’s on top of him. Her knees bracketing his hips, her whole body lined up with his, her elbows propped next to his head, her hands in his hair. Reflexively, his hands moved to her body. One hand running up and down her thigh, the other tracing her spine under her shirt.

 

She’s just looking at him and he can feel the anxiety seeping out of his body. Neither of them say anything because neither of them needs to. They haven't said “I love you” since their agreement, but both know when the other is conveying it. Both know when the other responds.

 

Which is why he knows exactly what’s about to happen, and he does nothing to stop it.

 

She kisses him.

 

It’s slow but insistent. It’s a reminder. _‘I love you. I love you. I love you.’_

 

Her hand moves to the side of his face, and the other stays in his hair. He wraps his arm around her middle, and presses her tighter against him. She runs the thumb of the hand that’s on the side of his face over the corner of his mouth, coaxing it open, and she slowly slides her tongue inside his mouth.

 

He grips her thigh. She’s licking into his mouth slow, and it’s heady. He pushes back with his tongue, running it over her bottom lip.

 

 _“Stiles.”_ And he wants to die right there. Because she’s breathy and it’s so much hotter than hearing her moan because it’s so desperate. It’s hot because he knows he could turn it into a moan if he wanted to. Fucking hell, does he want to.

 

He wants to roll over, and give it to her in all the places she’s aching for it. He wants to hear his name on her lips over and over as he worships her body in all the ways he’s been dying to. He wants her shaking and moaning in his bed. But he won’t because he if does that, there’s no going back. He won’t be able to let her leave. He won’t recover.

 

So he keeps kissing her, and then she does this thing with her hips against his that has him panting into her mouth, groaning out, _“Oh shit, Lydia. That’s so good”,_ against her lips. He realizes with startling clarity that while he isn’t emotionally capable of having sex with her, and he doesn't think she could handle it either, they can definitely grind against each other. Which is exactly what they continue to do.

 

It isn't lost on him that he’s in college, dry humping Lydia Martin on his bed like two teenagers, but he doesn’t give a fuck. Because her body is rubbing against his in all the right places, and she’s making quiet gasping sounds against his lips, which aren't touching anymore. They’re about a centimeter apart, his eyes locked on hers. He’s got one hand on her ass, and his arm is still around her middle. She’s got one elbow propped beside his head, her hand clutching his pillow, and her other hand his up his shirt doing sinful things to his torso. He will not be surprised if he finds scratch marks tomorrow.

 

He sticks his tongue out to lick his lips, and ends up licking hers as well. And it’s just hot enough, and she’s moving so good against him, that they both end up coming at the same time. She surges forward and grabs his bottom lip between her teeth, panting out moans. And it hurts so good mixed with his orgasm that he lets out a growl he wasn't aware he could produce.

 

After they’ve both calmed down, and he gets up and cleans himself off, climbing back into bed, she speaks. She gets back on top of him, and she starts stroking his hair and he's drawing lazy circles on her back.

 

“That was the hottest noise I’ve ever heard.” She murmurs.

 

“Hotter than the noises the other guys make?” He immediately regrets it. It came from a place of worry and desperation because as he's laying there with her, he realizes he isn't the only one making her moan like that. He isn't the only one making her feel good that way.

 

She’s gone still on top of him. “You’re such an asshole you know that?” She starts to roll off of him.

 

He wraps both arms around her, and buries his face in her neck. “Shit Lyd, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I shouldn't have said it.” She doesn’t move off of him, but she doesn’t resume stroking his hair either.

 

They fall asleep, and the next day she leaves. And Stiles can’t help but feel like something had changed.

  


(Present Day)

 

Lydia is getting ready to leave, and she’s a little relieved. Walking down memory lane with Stiles was hard. But he had wanted to talk about it, so they did. She let him walk down memory lane. The whole point of the story to her was about how she was hopelessly in love with him, and had been throughout college, and now. The whole point of the story to him, she realized, was to point out how much he loved her, and gauge her reaction when he brought up his comment about other guys.

 

So she’s about to leave, she is literally moving through the doorway, when she stops. Because she can’t leave and let him think what she knows he’s been thinking for the past 5 years.

 

“There were no other guys.” She states firmly. He won’t meet her eyes.

 

“Yes there were. Lying isn't going to make it hurt less because I know you’re lying.”

 

“No Stiles. There were no other guys. Not once. I don’t know what gave you the idea that there were, but never.” Her voice is wavering a little, but it’s strong.

 

“Lydia,” he sighs, “I heard one. I called you and you picked up, and on the other end I heard a guy’s voice in the background call out “later babe”. It’s okay. Just please don’t lie to me about it.” He still won’t look at her.

 

“You mean Anthony?” She asks, a hint of incredulity to her voice.

 

“I don’t need names.”

 

She’s had enough of him avoiding her eyes, so she grabs his face in between her hands and forces him to look at her, fully realizing this is a very charged moved. He doesn’t move away.

 

“Anthony, is gay and a friend.” He relaxes imperceptibly, and if she didn’t know him so well, know how to read his body, she would've missed it. “Listen to me. There was no one else. Not once. It was only ever you.” Her voice breaks a little on the last part, because fuck it was so true. She never once even thought about bringing guys home with her. At least not during college. She’s hoping he doesn’t catch on to it, but he’s smart and he does.

 

“What about after college?” He whispers. She can’t answer, doesn’t know how. “That’s what I thought.” He gently removes her hands from his face, and puts them by her side. “You should go. I’ll see you next week.”

 

She wants to cry. Lately that’s all she’s been wanting to do. She can see all over his face that she’s just broken his heart, again, and he still wants to see her next week.

 

“What about you? There weren't any other girls?” She throws back at him.

 

“Not until you stopped answering my calls.”

 

“But you admit you’ve slept around too. So how am I the bad guy for doing what you did too?” She doesn’t even know what point she’s trying to make. She just doesn’t want to see the dejected look on his face anymore. At least anger she can handle.

 

“Of course I did Lydia! Because once again, I had to figure out a way to move on from you! Or least how to ease the pain a little. I mean fuck, what did you expect? You have this stupid childlike notion that I have nothing better to do than to sit on my ass and wait for you. Which I do!” Lie. “So yeah, when I finally figured out that you were ignoring me, and that you weren't going to honor our deal, which by the way is a fucked up way of thinking about it, I started bringing girls home. And sucks for them because the entire time I was with them, I was thinking about you. So fuck you, Lydia. This is the second time you've forced me to find a way to forget you, and the second time you’ve decided you don’t like it. And when you inevitably decide that you don’t want to be around me anymore, for the third time, please for the love of fucking christ, stay away.” He's breathing heavy, and he isn't looking at her again.

 

She can feel the tears running down her face. She was wrong about handling his anger. “Stiles I’m sorry. I am. But I love you. And I have since we were 16, and that hasn't changed.” She’s moving toward him.

 

“Lydia stop…”

 

“And when I told you that I wanted to try college on my own, it wasn't about trying to get away from you. It wasn't about not wanting to be around you. For fucks sake Stiles! We talked on the phone every goddamned day! I came and visited you all the time! But I needed to try something on my own. I needed to see that I could do it. It was the first time I ever had something for myself, an accomplishment that meant something to me. It was the first time I got to see how I would be on my own. And I needed you. And god bless you Stiles, you stayed around and you helped me. And I loved you so much my fucking heart ached. If you had told me you couldn’t wait, I wouldn’t have waited, but when you agreed I thought that maybe you needed to figure out college without a relationship too. I thought you were okay with it. And did you ever think that maybe I needed a distraction too? You’re an never ending presence in my life, Stiles! You have been since high school, and even through the past two years.”

 

“That’s such bullshit, Lydia, and you know it.”

 

They’re standing right in front of each, not two inches apart. She can feel the anger on him, and she knows he can feel her desperation. She doesn’t care. She can smell his cologne, and the underlying scent of him, and she just wants.

 

“It isn't bullshit. I love you.” She’s got her hands on his face again.

 

“Don’t do this…” he whispers.

 

“I will. Because it’s true.” She’s leaning up and she can almost taste his lips. She’s surprised to find that he isn’t moving away, but closer to her.

 

“Lyd…” and then his lips are on hers, and it’s incredible. She missed this. She ached for this. Her arms wrap around his neck, and she’s fisting his shirt. She can feel his hands splayed across her back, strong and warm, and pulling her closer. His tongue is strong and insistent in her mouth, and she responds in kind. She’s pouring her whole heart into this kiss because if she’s going to leave him, she’s going to leave him with the knowledge that she’s in love with him and desperate for him.

 

“Oh god, tell me to stop Lydia. Please.” He begs against her lips.

 

“Don’t. Please don’t stop.” All they’re doing is kissing, but she knows.

 

“If you don’t tell me to stop, your skirt is going to end up on my floor, and my head is going to end up between your legs.” His voice is husky, and he’s licking at her ear.

 

“The zipper is on the back.” She groans into his apartment.

 

He swears loudly, and picks her up. Her thighs go around his hips, and she kisses him again, licking into his mouth. She isn’t naïve enough to think that this is anywhere near solving their issues. In fact she’s pretty sure this is about to be the angriest fuck of her life, but she doesn’t care.

 

They make it to his bedroom, barely, and he lays her down, her skirt already sliding down her legs. He’s sucking on her neck, his hand running up her leg, and his other is by her head keeping him just far enough away that she can’t arch into him properly.

 

“Tell me to stop, Lydia.” His hand is right at the juncture of her thighs.

 

“No.” He moves his hand so one finger is rubbing up and down her.

 

“You want this?” He moves her panties aside, and she can feel two of his fingertips settled right at her entrance.

 

“Yes.” She looks right at him. He kisses her and pushes his two fingers inside of her, and she moans outright because holy fuck does it feel good. He starts moving them in and out slowly, and she can hear how wet she is.

 

“Anybody else make you this wet, Lyd?” His lips are by her ear, and she knows he’s taunting her. She doesn’t care.

 

“Only you.” She manages to get out because he’s got three fingers in her now, and he’s moving them at a pace that’s got her right on the edge, but not close enough.

 

He stops abruptly, and she whines and looks at him. “Told you, skirt on the floor, and my head between your legs.” He smirks at her.

 

“Take your shirt off first.” She demands. He does it without argument, but then says, “Your turn.” And she does it without argument. He’s staring at her, and she can’t help but be grateful she wore her red bra today, and smug that she still gets him like this, simultaneously.

 

Suddenly she’s on her back, and he’s kissing her. He gets her panties off of her, and starts kissing down her body. He gets to her navel and then licks a path back up to the valley between her breasts, and then promptly, after removing her bra with more skill than she’d like to think about, he licks one nipple and then the other. Then he kisses down her body again. He reaches just under navel, and then sits back on his heels. She watches him take her in, and then watches as he puts his hands on her ankles that are resting on either side of his legs. She sucks in a breath when he starts moving them up her legs to the backs of her knees. He grips them and starts to slowly move her legs apart, never breaking eye contact.

 

He still doesn’t break eye contact as he settles himself between her legs, his mouth so close to where she wants him, that his breath is hitting her, sending shivers up her spine.

 

“Tell me to stop, Lyd.” He says one last time. He’s saying it because if they go through with this, and she doesn’t come back next Saturday, it’s going to ruin him. But she’s coming back next Saturday.

 

So she says, “Eat me.” And he does. Like a man starved, he does.

 

At the first pass of his tongue, she arches and groans out a _‘fuck’_. It’s heavenly, his tongue everywhere. He licks her up and down, and she’s lost in the rhythm of it, and then it changes, and he’s shoving his tongue inside of her, rubbing her clit furiously.

 

“Shit Stiles, don’t.. don’t fucking stop, I swear to… _oh fuck_ … I swear to god…” she pants.

 

“Goddamn Lydia, I forgot how fucking good you taste…” he murmurs against her, and the vibration does wonders to amplify how fucking good she feels right now.

 

He slides two fingers inside of her, and laps at her clit, and all the sensations are changing and are incredible, and she can’t even speak, she’s just whimpering, her hands fisted into his hair.

 

“You gonna come for me, Lydia?” He asks against her. She’s about to respond when he crooks his fingers, and sucks her clit, and then she’s coming and he has his answer.

 

“You… are such… an.. asshole..” she pants out as he’s calming her down. “Get the fuck up here, without pants.”

 

“Whatever you want.” He says, a smile in his voice. She has her eyes closed, still coming down off her high. She hears him shuffle around, and then hears him fumbling with a condom package. She opens her eyes, and sits up.

 

“I’m on birth control, and before you give me a smartass comment, it’s to help with my cramps.”

 

“You know that is isn't always effective, right?” He quirks his eyebrow at her, and she rolls her eyes.

 

“Yes I am aware, but I need to feel you, Stiles. Please..” She pleads with him.

 

He takes 3 seconds to think about it and then with an elegant, “fuck it” he tosses the condom on the floor, and she grabs him around the neck and pulls him down on top of her. She parts her legs so his hips can settle against hers. And when they do, she can feel him hard and heavy against her center. But he doesn’t push in just yet.

 

“I wanted to hate you, I really did.” He bites her neck, and pushes into her quickly. She gasps. He fills her up and she feels him everywhere, and she can’t think straight. “But here you are underneath me, and I want to fuck you so hard and make love to you so good just so you have something you want to come back to. You gonna come back to me Lyd?” He moves out of her, waiting. He's looking in her eyes, brushing his lips against hers, his hands on either side of her head.

 

“I promise I’ll come back to you.” She says, and just as she finishes the sentence, he’s thrusting into her again.

 

“Yeah?” He pulls out again, waits.

 

“God yes. Fuck me like you mean it, Stiles.” She moans because she knows that’s what he wants to hear.

 

And he does. He moves one hand up to his headboard and starts thrusting into her at pace that’s hard, but not too rough. It’s phenomenal and Lydia can’t even verbalize what she’s feeling. Keeping his hand braced on the headboard, he leans down, wraps his arm around her waist, and pulls her up so her hips are against his body, and it changes the angle of his thrusts, and suddenly he’s hitting her in all the right places.

 

“Son of a bitch, Lydia you feel good. Forgot how wet you get, how hot.” She pushes against his chest and he moves willingly. Now he’s sitting up, and she straddles him, and in a fluid motion, she sinks down onto him again.

 

“I missed this. Miss you so much. Shit yes, Stiles, right there.” One hand is gripping his hair, the other leaving scratch marks up and down his back.

 

His thrusts are more erratic and he’s gripping her hips so hard they’re going to bruise, and she’s so close and she knows he’s close too, so she clenches around him.

 

“Fuck. Oh fuck. Do that again.” He pants into her neck. She does it again, and he moans. “Yes. Shit that’s so fucking good. I fucking love you, Lydia.” And then she’s coming, yelling out into the quiet of his room. She can feel herself pulsing around him.

 

“Come for me, Stiles.” She whispers against his ear. He does moaning out her name like a prayer.

 

They sit like that for awhile, slowing coming down. Once the position is uncomfortable, he gently lifts her off of him, and lays her down. He gets up, goes and grabs a towel, and comes back and cleans them up. She just watches him, watches how his body moves. Once he’s done cleaning them up, he throws the towel in the hamper in the closet, and comes back to the bed.

 

She moves over a little so he can lay down with her, and he does. She finds herself breathing out a sigh of relief because she still isn't sure how he feels about being this way with her. He puts his arm out, and she moves into him. Head on his chest, arm over his stomach, and one leg over his hips. He intertwines their legs, and starts running his hand up and down her back.

 

“What does it say about us that we had sex on the second day we saw each other after 2 years?” He muses.

 

“Angry sex no less.”

 

“More like frustrated with a hint of pissed off.” He chuckles.

 

“Did you really want to hate me?” Her voice is small, but too loud in the quiet room. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop his movements, which she takes as a good sign.

 

“No.” He states.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because loving you was never about me. And hating you would've been.” He says softly.

 

He knocks her breathless sometimes. She doesn’t know what to say to that so she says what she’s been thinking about for the past 15 minutes. “You said you love me.”

 

“You knew that.”

 

“I did.” She replies because it’s true. She knew that. “I need you to know that loving you was never about me either.” Now he tenses.

 

“If we’re being honest, I was never sure you ever loved me. I’m still not sure. And I’m not sure that you love me now.” His honesty hurts but it hurts because he had been living all this time giving his love to her without knowing truly if it was reciprocated.

 

“Stiles Stilinski. I have loved you since we were 16. If I have to say that everyday for the next 5 years until you believe me, I will. No time apart, or distance ever changed that. I loved you then, and I love you now.”

 

“I really hope someday I believe that.” He murmurs against her hair.

 

“You will.” She promises.

 

They lay there, not talking, until they fall asleep.

  
  


XXXXXXX

  


The Saturdays continue. Each one, she shows up at his door, and he lets her in because despite his hesitation, and his firm belief that eventually she’ll just leave again, he's an addict. For the next month they stay away from topic of their past because they agreed having sex again would probably not be a good idea, not until they make some head way in their issues, and talking about their past leads to angry sex. So instead they watch movies, eat bad take out, and talk about their lives. The parts of their lives which aren’t part of the issues part.

 

They avoid the issues.

 

Until the 6th Saturday she drops by, and Scott happens to be there.

 

There's the usual knock at the door. Stiles jumps up and lets her in. He had given Scott a bit of a pep talk because the last thing he needed was Scott saying something and ruining his set up with Lydia.

 

He opens the door and she’s standing there smiling. “Hey.”

 

“Hi.” He smiles back.

 

“Hi Lydia!” Scott shouts from the kitchen where he’s rummaging through the fridge.

 

She looks around Stiles to see only Scott’s ass sticking out from behind the door of the fridge. She looks back at Stiles, and he just shrugs. Scott finally comes out from behind the door, and proceeds to walk up to Lydia and hug her in a hug that lifts her off the ground.

 

“Long time, Lyds.” He says, and Lydia feels a slight pang because damn. She really missed her Alpha.

 

"Long time indeed.” She says as he puts her down. “How’s work been treating you?”

 

“You'd think being an Alpha werewolf would mean not getting bitten by dogs, but I’ve been bitten like 5 times in the past two weeks.”

 

“Said Alpha werewolf is a giant puppy. It’s impossible to be scared of a puppy.” Stiles says, the _obviously_ , is perched at the edge of his tongue and Lydia can practically see it, but he doesn’t say it. They move into the living room area. Scott takes the chair, which leaves the couch for Stiles and Lydia.

 

"What about you Lydia? Did you hear back from the committee about your hypothesis? Are they going to give you the grant?” Scott asks.

 

“They are! I got the call this morning actually. I’m so excited about it. There’s going to be a big banquet. I was actually going to ask you if you wanted to go with me?” She says, looking at Stiles.

 

“Yeah of course.” He nods.

 

They talk for awhile, and Scott stays for dinner. They reminisce a little bit, but not too much. Scott remembers the pep talk. Everything is going smoothly until Scott brings up junior year of college, deciding to effectively throw the pep talk out the window. Which is explicitly off limits because it is the past, but he launches into the story anyway.

  


(Junior Year of College)

 

“Stiles! Dude are you home?” Scott calls into the dark apartment. There's no response so Scott assumes that Stiles is in fact, not home. He hangs his keys on the hook next to the door, because he is literally a dad, and starts to head down the short hallway to his bedroom.

 

He decides to check in Stiles’ bedroom just in case he’s asleep in his desk chair again. He does not want to hear about another one of  Stiles’ neck twinges again. The last one, he went on for two weeks, long after it had gone away.

 

He opens the door to Stiles’ room, and he would've totally missed Stiles laying on his bed staring at the ceiling if not for the werewolf sight.

 

This is a bad sign. Stiles does not lie still. Not even when he is sleeping, and here he is, lying still. Fuck.

 

“Hey buddy. You good?” Scott asks, his voice sounds too loud.

 

“Yeah.” Stiles answers, his voice soft and thick and shit he’s been crying.

 

Scott walks into the room, takes a seat on the computer desk chair, and says, “What happened?”

 

“Lydia called. She isn't going to be able to visit.”

 

“Like for winter break?” It was a usual thing Scott knew. Lydia visited every year. Granted it had only been happening for 2 years, but Scott knew that it meant a lot more to them.

 

“Like at all. For the rest of this semester, and apparently next semester.”

 

Scott starts scooting the computer desk chair closer to the bed, until he’s close enough to smell the alcohol that’s coming off of Stiles. It’s isn't fresh so it’s safe to assume that Stiles had gotten drunk after talking to Lydia, and was starting to sober up. Though not by much.

 

"Shit.” Scott murmurs, “Did she say why?”

 

“She’s busy. There's a lot going on. She’s in the middle of really heavy research.” Stiles rattles off the reasons that Scott knows he’s burned into his brain. Scott also knows that in Stiles’ mind, these are all reasons that Lydia doesn’t want to see him, even if that isn't the case.

 

“So she’s busy. I’m sure she wants to come and see you dude. Life gets crazy though, you know?” Ever the mediator is Scott.

 

“Sometimes I think about everything I’ve been through. My mom dying, being possessed, being erased, dealing with the guilt of killing someone, killing Allison.” Scott knows there’s no point in interrupting because Stiles isn't going to hear it. Not right now. “And then I think about how long I’ve loved Lydia. How long I spent just trying to get her to see me. Then being her friend. Then really falling in love with her. And nothing I’ve been through has ever hurt me as much as loving her has hurt me. Because at least the rest of the shit I’ve been through has had a period of mourning and healing. I don’t get to heal from Lydia.” Stiles sniffs and he rolls onto his side, facing away from Scott.

 

“I’m sorry, dude.” Because what else can he say? “She loves you too.”

 

Stiles doesn’t say anything, so Scott leaves.

 

To anyone else, they would think that Stiles is overreacting. They would think that he’s being harsh simply because she’s so busy. It happens. Life is life. She’s two hours away, and though that isn't much, sometimes it’s too much.

 

Scott knows though. He knows that the two hour span it would take Lydia to get here is exactly why Stiles is so upset. Because Stiles will never stop believing that Lydia is trying to leave him behind. Scott knows better.

 

They’re both idiots because if Stiles would just verbalize what he wants, Lydia would give it to him. And if Lydia would just realize that Stiles will absolutely never ask her for anything, she would understand his unspoken heartache, and ease it in a heartbeat. Both want the other to speak up.

 

Lydia pushes Stiles away out of fear, and Stiles doesn’t push Lydia for more out of fear. Scott shakes his head. The two of them have survived more than two humans should ever have to. They’ve faced down more monsters than anyone, and yet, they can’t face each other.

 

Scott goes into his room, lays down and thinks about what it means to love someone so much, you’re afraid to ask them to love you back.

 

Two weeks later, Lydia shows up to the Stilinski house for Christmas dinner, and Scott has never seen two people so in love, and so afraid.

  


(Present Day)

 

Scott finishes telling the story, and gives Lydia a long look that she knows Stiles didn’t miss. Stiles is stock still beside her, and she’s back at ready to throw up like she was the first day she knocked on Stiles’ door.

 

Logically Lydia knows that Scott is not trying to make her feel bad. She knows that he's trying to give them the push they need to talk about their issues because they aren't doing it on their own. She feels like complete shit anyway. She refuses to look at Stiles because she’s 3000% sure she doesn't want to see the look on his face.

 

“I think you should go, dude.” Stiles says, in a voice that Lydia knows he means he’s trying not to freak out. Stiles doesn’t like freaking out at Scott. Scott nods and leaves. Doesn’t say goodbye, or hug them. He just leaves. Smart guy.

 

They sit in silence, neither looking at the other. And then;

 

“Lydia about what I said… I didn’t mean it. I was hurt and drunk.” He turns and faces her, but she still hasn't turned to face him.

 

“I was never going to leave you behind. I never wanted to. Why are you always so certain that I’m just going to leave you behind?” She asks. Her voice is low and she’s staring at his tv.

 

“Well I mean, look at our past Lydia.” He mumbles.

 

“That’s shit, Stiles.” She spits out because now she’s angry.

 

“Pardon me?”

 

“You look at everything we have been through and only see the times that I’ve supposedly left you behind. But let's evaluate shall we? First off, I found my way to you. I fell in love with you. At 16 years old and had the good sense to wait, and make sure it was real and genuine. Then you got a girlfriend and I decided to back off because you deserved the chance to experience something outside of me. And while we’re on the subject, you’ve left me before too. Second off, I always came back for you. Whenever we were in trouble, I was fighting for you. I’m the one who held you up when you collapsed while Allison died. I’m the one who found a way to cure you. I’m the one stopped your panic attack. I’m the one who remembered you and brought you back. I’m the one who pushed you out of the gasoline. Third off, the only reason I ever suggested we wait until after college was because I needed something that was mine. I needed a chance to live in a world where monsters didn’t exist and do my own thing. I had to try. And yes. I waited two years to come and see you, but I still came back for you.” She’s slightly out of breath by the time she’s done.

 

“Two years Lydia. You waited two years. You convinced me you loved me, and then waited two years to come. You keep giving me this complex. Every time I think I’ve reached a level where I’m good enough for you, you 180 on me, and I’m back to square one.” His voice cracks a couple times, and Lydia knows that he’s having a hard time admitting this.

 

“Why didn’t you just tell me, Stiles?” She finally looks at him.

 

“What was I supposed to say? Fuck Lyd, I love you so much and I never wanted that to get in the way of your life, your dreams. But somewhere along the way, I needed you to love me back.”

 

She sits there for a minute, just looking at him. “Scott called me. The night he found you in your room. He called me and told me how fucked up you were over me not coming to visit.”

 

He stares at her for a solid two minutes before responding. “Is that why you came to Christmas dinner?” She nods.

 

“I’d do just about anything for you Stilinski. You just have to ask.” She means that. She means it so much she can feel it vibrating through her. This is not the first time she’s been overcome with how much she loves Stiles Stilinski.

 

“I’ll make you a deal.” He says, scooting closer, “I’ll be more honest about how I feel, if you will too. Stop pushing me away, Martin.”

 

She gives him a shy smile, and nods her agreement.

 

“If this were a movie, our clothes would be strewn around the room by now.” He says, waggling his eyebrows.

 

“Try again.”

 

“What? That was a perfectly good line!” He exclaims.

 

“I think the belt on my pants actually got tighter.” She gets up from the couch, and heads into the kitchen to grab some water.

 

Stiles follows her in the kitchen, and says into her ear, “I could loosen it for you.”

 

“Okay. I walked into that one. Next.” She heads out of the kitchen back to the couch. He follows right on her heels.

 

“Lydia.” She turns to look at him. “I love you.” He says, his eyes sincere.

 

“Nice try.” She laughs and turns back around turning on the tv.

 

“Dammit.” He huffs from behind her. Then he’s on the couch next to her. He sticks his arm out, and she curls into him, and it’s easy.

 

Lydia still isn't sure that they’ve resolved all their issues, but it feels like progress. She can wait.

  


XXXXXX

 

3 Saturday's later Stiles is knocking on Lydia’s door. Her banquet is on a Saturday, which was oddly convenient. She’s nervous because she isn't sure her shade of red lipstick is really going with her floor length gown. She is in love with this gown, so she isn't taking it off. It’s strapless with a sweetheart neckline, and a slit up the side that reaches mid thigh. The underskirt is a shade of cream that borders on tan, and the rest is black lace. Her hair is in loose waves around her face. Her heels are stiletto and match the underskirt of her dress. She decides to keep the deep shade of red on her lips, and goes and answers the door.

 

She’s completely floored, and from the way his jaw drops, so is Stiles.

 

Stiles in a tuxedo is every wet dream she didn’t know she had until now. He’s attempted to maintain his hair by not putting any gel in it, and simply brushing it down it seems. All she wants to do is get him out of the tux, and mess up his hair the way she likes it.

 

She’s brought out of her daydream by his voice. “Wow, Lyd… You look… sensational.” He’s looking her up and down, and she can’t help the feeling of adrenaline that moves through her.

 

“You look absolutely fantastic yourself,” she sounds breathy doesn’t she? “Who knew you could clean up so well, Stilinski.”

 

He throws a smirk at her, and holy god she’s not going to make it through the night without dragging him into the bathroom at the hotel, and jumping his bones.

 

“Gotta bring my A game for all the cougars that are going to be at this thing,” he tries to say without laughing, but it doesn’t work.

 

“I’m 5 months older than you, I am all the cougar you need,” she calls as she heads to get her jacket.

 

“Are you volunteering to have sex with me tonight? Because if you’re offering, you can’t back out,” he states very seriously.

 

She walks back over to him with her jacket in hand, and her clutch, “I mean I guess we’ll find out. Depends on if you find another cougar.” She smirks and moves past him out into the hallway.

 

“You are all the cougar I need, Lyd.”

 

“Using my line to try and get me to sleep with you, classy,” she can’t keep the laugh out of her voice.

 

“Whatever works,” and he can’t either. They’re at the elevator now, and he touches her elbow to get her to look at him, “Seriously though, Lydia, you look absolutely beautiful.”

 

She blushes because he’s Stiles and he always says the exact right thing to get her flustered, “Thank you.”

 

The get into the elevator, she presses the button and they start downward.

 

“So why didn’t you ever tell me about this? About how your research was nominated to be funded, and then chosen to be funded? We’ve been hanging out for 2 months now,” he inquires.

 

“Do you really want to know?”

 

“Yes,” he says right as the elevator doors open. They both walk out to the car that’s waiting for them, and climb in.

 

Once they're seated, she answers. “Because I didn’t want to scare you off. You told me that you have this idea that I’m always trying to leave you behind, and I don’t want you to think that. I didn’t make a big deal about it because I didn’t want you to think it was just another way for me to get out. I just wanted you with me tonight, which is why I asked you,” she says quietly, fiddling with her hands.

 

He grabs them, stopping her. “Dammit,” he sighs, “I am such an asshole.” She looks up at him.

 

“Why?”

 

“This is huge for you, Lydia! And I don’t want you to ever think you can’t share pieces, especially ginormous pieces, of your life with me. That’s the whole point. I want you to be excited and share your excitement with me. I want to support you no matter what. I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me. Shit, I’m really sorry Lyd.” He strokes her cheek and she leans into it.

 

“Stiles, I am really excited about this. This is a huge achievement for me, for someone as young as I am. It’s something I love and adore, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. But what makes it so great, is that you’re here with me,” she states firmly.

 

He smiles at her. Most people wouldn’t think Lydia is as eloquent as she can be when it comes to her feelings, him included. He reminds himself that he has to stop underestimating her. He has to stop assuming that she can’t express how she feels, and that he’s going to be the only one ever verbalizing it.

  


5 minutes later, they arrive at the event, and Stiles can visibly see that Lydia is nervous. It’s written all over her face. And if her grip on his hand is anything to go by, she’s really nervous. For a brief moment, he’s thrilled. She’s showing him her anxiousness involuntarily, which means she’s comfortable with him.

 

He knows that to Lydia, intimacy means being able to be vulnerable with someone, it means opening up your heart and showing your deepest fears. Sex isn't the most intimate thing they have ever done. The most intimate things they’ve ever done is when he’s kissed her scar on her right side, when he’s wiped tears from her eyes, when he brought her back from the dead, when she did the same for him. The most intimate things they’ve done involve a dance floor, they involve every time either has calmed the other down after a panic attack.

 

Sex just enhances all of that. And so even though they had sex one week into seeing each other for the first time in 2 years, it hadn’t meant that she was willing to open up, that she was staying. And it certainly didn’t mean that Stiles was ready to let her back in, to let her infiltrate his mind. But here now, this is the pinnacle. These small moments he’s had with her over the last two months, means that she’s ready. His reciprocation means he is too.

 

They get out of the car, and when he comes around her side, he grips her arms and offers a smile that he hopes conveys all his confidence in her. But just in case it falls a little flat, he says, “You’re going to be great, Lyd. This is your arena. You invented and perfected mingling.” She smiles back at him, but he knows she’s still nervous. This is her research banquet after all, a fact with which Stiles is still profoundly impressed.

  


When they get inside it’s exactly how he imagined it was going to be. All sorts of snooty, fancy people in ball gowns, and tuxedos. And despite the fact that he is one of those people wearing a tuxedo, he still feels sharply out of place. Lydia, however, has fallen right into step, and she’s pulling him along with her. All he can do is smile, and hold on.

  


The night moves along fairly quickly. To his surprise, Stiles is actually enjoying himself. Watching Lydia move around, basking in the attention she has earned, is all he needs to keep him entertained.

 

Right before her speech, she finds him and moves him so he’s right up next to the stage.

 

“You’re my fixed point, okay?” She says.

 

“So dancing is probably not a good idea?” She just stares at him, and he cracks a grin.

 

“Only if you can answer one question,” he inclines his head which tells her to keep going, “Do six inch heels feel good shoved up your ass?” She deadpans.

 

“Jesus okay, okay. No dancing. Wouldn’t want to be the nurse removing the heel from my ass, although I do have a cute ass so…” he trails off in thought, and she smacks him lightly on the arm.

 

“Stiles!” She hisses.

 

Right as she’s about to continue, her name is announced and it’s time for her to go on.

 

“See? No time to be nervous, and now you’re up. Go kill it like I know you will.” She smiles at him, bright and genuine. He watches her turn, and walk on to the stage. She captures everyone’s attention immediately, and he just sits back, and watches her change the world, one word at a time.

  
  
  


After the event, they’re heading back to her apartment, and she hasn’t said one word. He knows her though, and he knows that she’s rerunning over everything that happened, analyzing it. She’s making sure she didn’t miss anything. Meanwhile he’s sitting there staring at her because he can’t even believe he’s here with her. All of his pain, and anger have evaporated since she walked back into his life, and he's pretty sure that even if she left him again, he would always hold these moments close to his heart. He’d never let her go.

 

“You’re staring at me.” She says, still looking out the window.

 

“I’d think that’d be a given by now,” he replies.

 

She huffs out a small laugh, shakes her head. “What are you thinking about?” He whisper asks.

 

She takes a moment before she turns and looks up him. “I was thinking about my speech. And how I rehearsed for weeks and weeks. How I planned it so meticulously. And then I, for some reason, started thinking about all the speeches you’ve given in your life. The ones you’ve given to me, to Scott, and how you just make them up on the fly. How they’re so eloquent and beautiful. And I guess I wish I had that talent.” She shrugs.

 

“Lydia you captivated that whole room,” he says earnestly.

 

“Yeah, maybe. But I’ve never given anyone anything, a speech or words, that change their lives. You’ve changed mine, and you’ve saved Scott’s. I just think about that a lot. It takes practice for me to be eloquent in that way, but you, you have a gift.” She’s looking at him a little starry eyed, and it’s giving him butterflies.

 

“I think there’s one speech I’ve given you that was my favorite,” he murmurs as he starts playing with her hand.

 

“The one from sophomore year of high school?” She guesses.

 

He shakes his head, “Nope. The one from senior year of college. It was the most vulnerable, and desperate I had ever been in my life.”

 

“Stiles…” she whispers because she knows what he’s talking about.

  


(Senior Year of College)

 

Lydia can actually hear him pacing from out in the hallway. He’s moving back and forth, back and forth in front of the door, waiting for her to arrive. She decides to put him out of his misery and knocks on the door.

 

It flies open. “I hear pacing makes the anxiety go away faster,” she says sarcastically.

 

He pulls a face. “Cute. Get in here.” She walks into his and Scott’s apartment. She knows why she's here, and why Scott is not here.

 

“Did you kill Scott and hide his body?” She asks, genuinely curious. She’s also trying to quell her own bout of anxiety because she knows she’s in trouble. And she’s earned being in trouble, but she’s not going to admit that.

 

“No, but I definitely considered it for a brief moment before realizing he’s the victim, and you’re the cause,” he spits out. He’s got his hands on his hips, pacing in front of the couch, pointedly not looking at Lydia.

 

“Stiles can you just hear me out?”    

 

“Oh, so now you wanna talk? But when you were telling Scott about the Scholarship you received from Princeton, you didn’t wanna talk about that.” He says flatly, which means he’s trying really hard not to freak out. Lydia’s seen it too many times before, and though she always knew what to do in those times, considering they were never directed at her, she’s at a loss right now.

 

“Of course I wanted to talk to you about it, but I didn’t know how to break the topic, and I asked Scott to help me figure it out.”she responds carefully.

 

“Are you going to take it?” He’s stopped pacing, standing with his body facing her, his hands still on his hips.

 

She wants to run from the room, from this conversation. “I was thinking about it,” he swears out loud, “Stiles it’s the best school in the country for mathematics, and the program would only be for 2 years. It’s a fantastic opportunity!” She’s pleading with him. Because she needs him to understand that this isn't about him. It has nothing to do with him.

 

“I’m aware that it’s the best, Lydia. I know that,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“Okay so why are you having trouble wrapping your head around why I would want to go?” It’s the wrong thing to ask, and she knows that as soon as it’s out of her mouth.

 

His head snaps up so fast, she’s pretty sure he’s going to have whiplash. His eyes are burning. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She winces slightly. “I can wrap my head around why you would want go. It makes perfect fucking sense. Clear as day, actually. You should go. Absolutely. The fact that you even think that I would ever be incapable of understanding why you want to pursue this is beyond me. Jesus fuck, Lydia. Give me some credit.”

 

“Then what, Stiles?” She hasn’t moved from the spot she ended in when she came in the front door.

 

“You never even thought of asking me to go with you,” he murmurs. She just blinks. “It never crossed your mind. Not one damn time and we both know it. Which means you don’t want me to go with you. And maybe it’s really fucking selfish, but I’m tired. I’m tired of waiting for you, of having this half and half. I want all of you all the time, every single day for the rest of my fucking life, however short that may be. I want you Lydia. I want to go with you to Princeton, and watch you blow everyone's mind with your genius. I want that. You never give me chances to want these things properly. You’re always half out the door, and I always feel like a dick because I have these feelings. So instead of asking you to stay, I’m telling you to go,” he moves towards her till he’s 2 inches from her, “I’m asking you to take me with you. Don’t leave unless you plan on bringing me with you. Maybe that’s unfair, but I can’t watch you walk out the door again. It’s going to kill me, Lydia. Do you… Do you still want me?” He asks, his voice laced with unease.

 

She softens up because oh, he just doesn’t even know. She cups his face in her hands, “I will always want you.” She murmurs.

 

“Then take me with you. Please, please take me with you.” He whispers, pressing his forehead against hers.

 

“Stiles,” she whispers. She can feel him shaking a little.

 

“God.. just let me.. let me love you, Lyd. Please..” he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her against him. She can feel how desperate he is, can feel his fear, his worry. She wants to take it all away, wants to make him believe how much she loves him.

 

So she kisses him. He opens up to her immediately, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She groans because he starts doing this thing with his tongue that makes her knees weak. It’s turning from her showing him how much she loves him, to him convincing her that she should take him with.

 

She runs her arms around his neck, one hand going to the back of his head to tug on his hair. She can feel his hands, cool and a little shaky, sliding up her shirt. His fingertips brush just under her bra, sending goosebumps erupting across her skin.

 

She shudders a little, already starting to ache for him. She’s always wanting him, but this is different.

 

“Shh. Don’t worry pretty girl. I’ve got you,” he whispers against her lips. She’s clutching onto his shirt, her other hand gripping his hair as he backs her up against his front door. He kisses her again. He bends down just slightly so he can grip the back of her knee, his other hand by her head on his door. He pulls up so one of her legs is hitched around his waist. He braces his knee against the door to give her some support, After it’s where he wants it, she feels his hand run up her thigh, nice and slow like the tease he is. His fingers brush her sex, and she whimpers, before he moves his hand up to her waist band. His fingers dip in slightly.

 

He pulls away from their kiss, keeps his lips 2 centimeters away, catches her eyes, and doesn’t break eye contact as he moves his fingers lower, lower, and then pulls them out and runs his hand up her stomach. She feels his hand, steady now, cup her breast, squeezing slightly. Her hips move against his, and she can feel how he wants her. She grinds just a little harder.

 

He smirks, all confidence now because, damn him, he knows how to get her hot and wanting. “Easy, Lyd.” He murmurs against her ear, nipping at her lobe. She bites her lip and breathes in a little too heavily. He reaches around and unclasps her bra, and waites. She stares him down for half a second, and then removes her shirt, letting her bra fall to the floor right after her shirt hits the floor.

 

He ducks down, and licks her right nipple without preface. His mouth is hot, and wet and it feels incredible and he’s only building her up. He starts sucking on it, his hand on her ribs, his thumb rubbing lightly just underneath her breast. The hand he has by her head comes down, and runs up her other thigh. It goes up and up, right under skirt again. He toys with her panties, feeling how wet she is.

 

“Goddamn,” he says, reverentially. He pushes her panties aside, and she’s so desperate that she moans out a “yes” before he even touches her fully. His mouth has moved to her other nipple, his fingertips are now rubbing around her entrance, and it’s a good thing he’s holding her up because, fucking hell. He pushes one finger into her as he bites lightly on her nipple. She pulls on his hair, causing him to grunt, which just goes straight to her core.

 

He feels her wetness increase, and grins against her breast, “My voice get you wet, Lyd?” She nods, her lip trapped between her teeth. She has no ability to register that she just opened a door that she will never be able to close again.

 

He slides another finger into her, pumping them in and out slowly, and suddenly he’s kissing down her body, and oh hell, she knows where this is going. She has half a mind to tell him to take her to bed, but she’s also intrigued to see how he handles this.

 

He removes his fingers long enough to get her skirt and panties off of her. He moves one of her legs up over his shoulder, and starts nosing at her clit.

 

“Stiles you are such a fucking tease,” she pants out.

 

He licks a stripe up her nice and long and his tongue is broad and hot. She moans out loud. “Were you saying something?” He asks, feigning innocence.

 

She pulls his hair to emphasize her point. He starts licking at her clit, doing patterns against it that have her panting into the quiet of his apartment. He slides his tongue down to her entrance, circles it with his tongue, and licks back up to her clit, making patterns again.

 

“Oh my god, your fucking mouth,” she moans. She was never verbal before Stiles. But his heavenly mouth, and sinful tongue cause her to lose any and all sense, which is how she knows it’s fucking fantastic sex. He’s sucking on her clit now, and then his finger is sliding up and inside of her, and she can’t help it, she half sobs. He starts crooking his finger inside of her, and she’s seeing dots.

 

“You gonna come for me, Lydia?” He asks, and then immediately goes back to lapping at her clit. He adds one more finger, crooks it just right, and she’s coming. He licks her clean, nice and slow, bringing her down.

 

She’s panting as he moves back up her body. It isn’t lost on her that she’s completely naked and he hasn’t removed one article of his own clothing.

 

“Why do you still have clothes on?”

 

“Figured you’d want to do that part,” he says, his hands splayed against the door by her head.

 

She bites her lip and thinks for a second, “I’d rather watch..” she quirks an eyebrow.

 

He smirks and steps away from her. He grips the hem of his shirt and lifts it up and over his head. Watching how his muscles move, and the way his hair ends up slightly messier after it’s off, has Lydia wet again. He unbuttons and unzips his pants, dropping them and stepping out of them. He looks up at her, and doesn’t break eye contact as he drops his boxers. That doesn’t stop her from breaking eye contact to look him up and down. He’s lean and fit, always has been, and he’s hard, and she’s desperate again.

 

They stand there for exactly 2 seconds before he’s moving forward and she’s jumping up simultaneously. He grips her ass, pushes her against the door, and his dick slides through her slick and he moans loud and filthy, just as she gasps. Her head drops back against the door, his heads rests against her collarbone.

 

He reaches down, lines himself up, but doesn’t push in. Just runs himself up and down her slit.

 

“You want it, Lyd?” She nods, “Tell me.” He says softly, kissing up her neck.

 

“I want it, Stiles,” and then against his ear she says, “Give it to me,” and he does.

 

He pushes up into her and she can’t believe how good it feels. This is usually where words fail her, and where Stiles can’t shut up.

 

“Fuck yes…” he moans into her neck, his voice goes straight to her core again. He feels it, and starts saying dirty things, that she will never admit get her hot because her body is a traitor, so he knows anyway, “My voice get you hot and wet? You like it when I talk?” She clenches around him. “ Oh shit.. that’s so good. You make me crazy, I want you all the time.” He sucks on her neck, thrusting in and out of her nice and slow, but each time she comes down, he hits a spot inside of her that makes her moan. “Goddamn, Lydia, all hot and wet and tight, gonna take you so good. Gonna make you scream.” She pulls his lips to hers, and bites down while she pulls his hair. He moans out this whimper that has her wrapping her legs around him tighter, encouraging him to go harder, faster.

 

“Fuck me so good, Stiles.” She grits out. He starts thrusting up into her harder, and faster. “Yes..” she moans out.

 

Because he’s fucking her against a door, his pelvic bone is rubbing against her clit in just the right amount. He starts sucking on her nipple.

 

She can feel how close she is, can feel her walls fluttering. She wants it so bad.

 

“You wanna come?” He pants against her mouth.

 

“I wanna.. I wanna come, Stiles, make me come.” She pants back, scratching down his back.

 

“Fucking Christ, Lydia. I love when you mark me like that.” He grunts out, “I’m gonna make you come so good, pretty girl,” he leans in and licks the shell of her ear, “Come so good for me, Lydia.” And she does. She screams out, and she can’t think or breathe, she’s just rolling in waves of pleasure. She feels him thrusting into her, and she scratches down his chest, and she can feel him coming inside her, prolonging her orgasm.

 

They move together until they relax. He pulls out of her, and carries her to the bathroom, where he sets her on the counter and goes about cleaning them up.

 

She just watches him move, sated and tired. She’s happy to be here with him, and she suddenly doesn’t want to leave him. She wants to crawl into his bed with him, and never leave.

 

“The day of graduation, since you graduate after me, I’ll come and get you. Okay? I’ll come and get you, and we’ll pack your stuff and you’ll come with me, okay?” He stops his movement, and looks at her.

 

“You mean that?” He breathes.

 

“I do. I love you, Stiles..” It’s the first time she’s said it since their freshman year of college, and she knows what that means.

 

He kisses her lightly, “Thank you, Lydia. I love you too.”

 

They finish cleaning up, and put on clothes to sleep in. Climbing into his bed that night, Lydia is absolutely sure that she wants Stiles to go with her, that she has never wanted anything more.

  


(Graduation Day)

 

Stiles has been looking for her everywhere, and the ceremony is about to start. He’s asked his dad, Scott, Melissa, and no one knows where Lydia is. He’s panicking because he’s certain something has happened to her. He’s called her and called her and she won’t answer.

 

The ceremony starts, and he’s too distracted to really pay attention to anything. It comes and goes, and afterwards Scott finds him first. The look on his face makes Stiles want to scream.

 

Scott doesn’t even attempt to avoid it because he knows that pulling the band aid off quick is the best course of action with Stiles.

 

“She’s gone,” he says.

 

Stiles doesn’t register it, “What?”

 

“Lydia.. she’s gone dude. She went to Princeton. She isn’t coming to see you later, she isn’t gonna make it to dinner tonight, she isn’t coming back.” Scott rips the band aid off.

 

Stiles cannot breathe. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. He doesn’t remember how to bring oxygen into his lungs.

 

She promised. Promised. Promised.

 

He turns away from Scott, and just starts running. He ignores his dad, Scott, Melissa. He ignores them and keeps running. He runs until he reaches his apartment. No one is there, so he grabs the closest picture, and hurtles it across the room. It shatters when it hits the wall. He flies into his room and starts ripping pictures off the walls, throwing the framed ones against the wall. He punches a hole in the wall.

 

In blind fury, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Dials her number. Waits for her voicemail, which of course he gets;

 

“You fucking promised me. You lied. You lied. You lied. I fucking love you, and you left. You left,” he’s choking on tears now, and he’s furious that he’s crying, “Bye, Lydia.” He hangs up, throws his phone against the wall.

 

He packs a bag, rips out of the apartment. His family don’t hear from him for 3 days. When he does come home, he moves out, and doesn’t mention Lydia at all.

  


(Present Day)

 

Lydia is really quiet. Remembering that, talking about that was not his intention. But it had happened, and now Lydia won’t look at him.

 

“Lydia I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I just… It’s part of us. It’s part of what happened between you and I. But we’re here now. This right here, this is us.” There’s tension in his voice.

 

“I left and you’re apologizing?” Well, he wasn’t expecting that at all.

 

He thinks about it for a second, “You wanna tell me why you did?” He’s always wanted the answer, and he thinks now is the time to get it.

 

She quiet for a long moment, no doubt weighing the pros and cons of explaining to Stiles why exactly she decided just to up and leave.

 

“It was never because I didn’t want you.”

  


(Graduation Day)

 

Lydia has tried 3 different times to get her lipstick right, and it just won’t fucking cooperate. It might be because her hands are shaking. She’s so pissed off because this was supposed to be safe. It was supposed to be her armor, and now she can’t even get that on right.

 

She drops the lipstick, breathing heavy. She takes a beat, resting her head against the mirror, trying to catch her breath. The letter for Princeton’s math graduate program is sitting there open on her vanity, and she wants to rip it up.

 

This vile piece of paper has ruined everything. She always knew that she was going to pursue math, but she had never considered Princeton because it was too far from a certain brown haired boy. And logically she knows that Stiles would never stop her from going, it’s the fact that he wants to come with her that’s causing her to hyperventilate.

 

She knows she’s created this mess. If she hadn’t insisted on waiting till after college, this decision would probably be infinitely easier. Stiles would be coming with her without any question.

 

But she has a secret. She’s scared. She’s a cliche and she hates that. But her terror in letting Stiles be apart of her life in the most intimate of ways, is an inherent part of her. She loves that boy desperately. More than she has ever loved anything in the entire world. But she’s going to break his heart again. She is.

 

Math will never leave. Math she can control. Math will never resent her terror. Math will never grow tired of putting her back together.

 

Stiles needs to find a way to piece himself together, he can’t be constantly repairing Lydia every time she has a banshee episode. Lydia is a broken mosaic of hopes and dreams and loved ones that continuously keep leaving, even if not by choice. She’s a thrown together combination of paint splattered, and she can’t discern where her colors begin, and end. Stiles doesn’t deserve to deal with her messiness.

 

She rationalizes it all, but the truth of it is, she’s scared. The human aspect of this relationship she has with him is what makes her want to throw up. It’s the intimacy, that way he looks at her when she has no makeup on. It’s how he whistles the Star Wars theme song when he’s making pancakes on Saturday mornings. It’s how he scratches the back of his head exactly 3 times when he wakes up in the morning. It’s how he has one laugh for the world, and one laugh for her. It’s how he moves effortlessly through her life. It’s how he murmurs her name in his sleep. It’s how he shakes his leg when studying the supernatural, and taps his pen when he’s just plain studying. It’s all of these things and more.

 

She’s never been good with the honest stuff, and she’ll never be good at it. So she’s going to spare Stiles the pain now, and she’s going to leave. She’s going to do it. Because she can’t. She can’t. She can’t.

 

She wants. She wants. She wants.

 

She never thought being a banshee would be easier than being a human, but right now, she’s certain she will never know how to be a human in a real relationship.

 

Stiles will not be the test run.

 

She packs her bags into her car, calls Scott. He doesn’t say anything to her except for this;

 

“I hope it’s worth killing him.” And then he hangs up. She knows Scott will forgive her. She knows that. And she will call periodically to check in on him and Stiles. But she will not call Stiles.

 

She’s ripping the band aid off for him. For her, she’s ripping her heart out, leaving herself in ruins, and taking Stiles with her.

 

She leaves him behind in the wake of her ruin.

  


(Present Day)

 

It’s Stiles’ turn to be quiet now. It’s a lot to take in, learning what happened that day. He can feel how tense she is next to him, and he knows she’s afraid.

 

“Did you ever listen to my voicemails?” He voice comes out rough, like he’s trying to speak around a lump in his throat, which he is.

 

“Yes,” her voice is thick, and he looks up and her eyes are teary. He just nods. “I didn’t… It wasn’t.. Stiles I am so sorry. I loved you, love you, so much. I was scared, and I didn’t know what else to do. Running was what I learned. I didn’t.. I just wanted to give you something better..” She’s grasping at straws. He can feel it in the tension that’s in the car.

 

They arrive at her apartment, and neither move to get out.

 

“I saw an envelope on the table near your door. It had MIT on it. Is that what I think it was?”

 

She nods.

 

“But you work at UC - Berkeley. That’s why you came back.” He says, confused.

 

“I came back for you. Berkeley is just a position I took until I found something more substantial. I had to beg the head of my department to have the banquet out here.” She speaks quickly.

 

“You came back for me.” He states.

 

“I did.”

 

“But you got an offer from MIT.” He says monotone. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling, or what’s going on in his head, or her head for that matter. Stating facts seems like the safest course of action.

 

“I did.”

 

“You’re going to take it.” It isn’t a question, or a suggestion. It’s a statement because he already knows how this story ends. She’s going to go. She’s going to promise to call or write, but she’s going to go.

 

“Stiles I…” and that’s all he needs to hear. The pain in her voice makes it evident that she’s already thought this over. He starts to get out the car because he can’t take it anymore. The pain is suffocating him. “Stiles wait!” He hears her call out to him from miles away.

 

He just starts walking. He doesn’t turn back.

 

He gets to his apartment. Doesn’t answer her calls. Doesn’t answer her texts. Just undresses, climbs into bed, and thinks about how he doesn’t know how he can be in so much pain, when there wasn’t much left for her to break. Leave it to Lydia to find a way.

 

He stares at the ceiling till the sun rises. Doesn’t get out of bed, and fuck, maybe it’s ridiculous. He’s a grown man, he should be able to get passed heartbreak. But he can’t.

 

She’s his tether, his life support, his best friend. She’s saved his life and given him love in times when he desperately needed it. She kept him from killing himself. From letting himself whither away.

 

He doesn’t understand why she doesn’t love him enough.

 

XXXXXX

  


It’s 1 week later when he hears a knock on his door. He isn’t going to get up to get it, so they’re either going to have to break down the door, or go away. He’s hoping it’s the latter.

 

But then something else happens. The door just opens, and he hears heels clicking across his floor.

 

He senses her before he turns over to see her, and she’s obviously picked the lock. And he’s in a state of disbelief, and hope.

 

“What are you doing here?” He inquires.

 

“Get up.” She says.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because there’s something we need to do together before I go.” All the hope he had is absolutely shattered.

 

“Thanks. I’ll pass on the goodbye tour. Just go, Lydia.” He lays back and rolls over.

 

“Stiles Stilinski get the fuck out of bed right now.” The room starts to shake a little, and he’s floored because she just used her banshee powers, and he so does not want to be on the receiving end of one of her screams.

 

So he gets up. Gets dressed. Leaves his apartment with her. They climb into her car. The first stop is an apartment. He doesn’t get it, but he gets out anyway.

 

The apartment is located an hour outside of UC - Berkeley, and about 46 minutes outside of Beacon Hills. Stiles lives about a half an hour outside Beacon Hills, and Lydia’s old apartment was about 20 minutes from his.

 

He shoots her a questioning look. She just shrugs and heads into the building. It’s a nice building, fairly expensive from what he can tell. There’s 4 floors, and he’s assuming the 4th floor apartments are the nicer ones.

 

They take the stairs up to the 4th floor, and while they’re climbing them, Stiles can’t keep it in any longer.

 

“Okay, what the hell Lydia? What is going on?”

 

She just shrugs again. He wants to scream because if she’s going to leave she should just get it over with. Despite his anger, he still aches to touch her in some form. He misses her and she’s right in front of him.

 

When they reach the 4th floor, she steps out of the stair well, and he follows. She walks about 5 doors down in the hallway and stops. She pulls out a key that Stiles is confused about, because where did she get the key? The door opens, and they step inside.

 

She turns on the lights, and he looks around. The apartment is beautiful, and spacious. Hardwood floors, large kitchen from the looks of it, a wall of windows directly across from the front door.

 

“There’s two bedrooms, and one bathroom.” She mumbles out.

 

He turns around to face her. “What is this, Lydia?” He asks warily.

 

She closes the front door in response. There’s a piece of paper taped to it. It’s a lease document. Underneath that piece is a contract with Lydia’s signature on it that has the Berkeley emblem on it. He reads it briefly, and then looks up at her with wide eyes.

 

“This is a contract stating that you’ll be working in the mathematics department at Berkeley…” she nods once, “Lydia what the fuck is going on?” His breathing is a little uneven.

 

“When you left last week, I made some changes. The lease document is for you and me. This could be our apartment. I took the job at Berkeley permanently, or at least for 2 years, so I’m staying whether you decide to move in with me or not. But this is for us. This place can be ours. If you want that.” She hasn’t moved since she closed the door.

 

“MIT?” He breathes because that’s all he can say.

 

“I declined.”

 

“No. Lyd you can’t. That… it’s such a good opportunity. It’s number one… You have to…” he can’t even speak full sentences right now.

 

“Berkeley is number 3, and with me it’ll definitely get to number one,” she gives him a small smile that he can’t return because his brain has short circuited. “Besides, there’s this boy that lives around here, and I’m kind of fond of him. I’d like to keep him around, ya know for killing spiders, and chasing bad guys with a bat. That is, if he wants me…” she’s moves closer to him, her voice is small and questioning.

 

He drops the papers, and surges forward grabbing her face and kissing her.

 

“Of course,” kiss, “I want,” kiss, “You.” Kiss. “But I couldn’t ask you not to go to MIT. I just wanted… I just wanted to be enough to take along.” He looks into her eyes willing her to understand what he’s saying.

 

“You were always enough. You will always be enough. But you have given so much for me. You’ve taken everything I’ve thrown at you. I want to do this for you, for us. And if in 2 years we decide that Boston might be worth a shot, then that’s a decision we make together. But for now, I need to be home. I need to be with you.” She insists earnestly.

 

“Fuck Lydia, I love you so much.” He kisses her again. And again. And again. He kisses her till they can’t breathe.

 

“I love you too.”

 

He just grins.

  
  


(A month later)

 

“Okay I swear to god this had better be the last box because I think we lost Scott, and I don’t know if my puny human arms can carry anymore of our shit up the stairs.” Stiles puffs out. He collapses on the floor for dramatic effect, but Lydia doesn’t bite.

 

“Think of it this way, now your puny arms will be that much bigger.” She snarks, not meanly.

 

“Your love is so warm,” he remarkes sarcastically, placing a hand over his heart for emphasis.

 

She laughs, warmly. “It was the last box. Thank you, Stiles.” She kneels down and kisses his forehead. She gets back up and heads into the kitchen to continue unpacking their boxes in there. “What do you want for dinner?” She calls.

 

He jumps up and heads into the kitchen after her. “I was thinking pancakes. I bought the stuff for them earlier.”

 

“You want to do breakfast for dinner?” She raises her eyebrows at him.

 

“Celebratory dinner! C’mon you know that you want pancakes for dinner.” He nudges her cheek with his chin, leaning into her space.

 

She rolls her eyes.

 

“If you let me make you pancakes, I’ll go down on you and do that thing you like with my tongue that I only do on special occasions.” He drops his voice a little lower.

 

She swats him away, and he laughs. “You do realize you’re bribing me into letting you make me dinner by telling me you’ll give me head right?”

 

“I stand by my offer. We both win in this.” He shrugs as if to say ‘what can you do?’

 

She stares at him for a moment, contemplating. “Fine. Make me pancakes, then eat me out.” She holds out her hand.

 

“Deal.” They shake on it.

 

Stiles starts getting everything ready, and absentmindedly starts whistling the theme song to Star Wars.

 

Lydia just smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading lovely people. You are all wonderful. Again, a huge thank you to all the people behind this because I know it took a lot of hard work and time.
> 
> I'm impvlsivee on Tumblr(:


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